


A Blue Christmas

by righteousgonewrong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gen, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/righteousgonewrong/pseuds/righteousgonewrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas had never been a big event with the Winchesters. Still, even in a cheap motel room, Dean always managed to make the holidays happen.</p><p>But not even Dean Winchester could make this Christmas a merry one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blue Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Is it too early for Christmas fics? I figure it's December, it's close enough. Happy holidays everyone!

The Winchesters had never been big on Christmas.

It had been Mary who had put up the tree, decorated the house, cooked the big family dinner and insisted everyone sit around the table and eat. John hadn't complained of course, but he was never the one to initiate the festivities. Dean could faintly remember one year his mom had even convinced him to wear a full Santa suit. It had been quite a sight, their big tough father running around in a red velvet suit with fluffy whte trim and a fake beard strapped to his chin. Dean had laughed and laughed, and Mary had baked John a fresh apple pie to make up for the humiliation. Not that John minded. Mary had a way of making everything alright.

But Mary was gone.

Thus began the tradition of eating frozen dinners on a motel room couch and exchanging small gifts--usually homemade, in the boys' case. A drawing from little Sam, a mix tape from Dean --while watching whatever holiday themed film was on television.

But even that didn't last long.

John never said it out loud, but Dean knew Christmas was a bittersweet occasion for their dad, more emphasis on the bitter than the sweet. It was just another reminder of everything they'd lost. 

So when their dad stopped coming back for the holidays, choosing instead to hunt while the boys waited behind in the motel room of the week, Dean wasn't surprised. Disappointed, maybe, the first time it happened. But he understood.

Still, he and Sam alwaus managed to make it work. Sometimes Bobby would take them shopping, sometimes Dean would pick up some extra jobs either working part time at a fast food joint--which never lasted long. Dean was never good at customer service--or as a mechanic. 

He always made sure to buy something special for dinner, whether it was a pre-cooked traditional Christmas dinner or just ordering in Chinese food and grabbing a pie from the nearest convenience store. Sometimes they even had decorations. Once Dean had even managed to "find" a small tree (they both knew find meant stole, but it didn't matter). Even the years where they barely had time or money to celebrate, Dean always found a way to make Christmas happen.

But even Dean Winchester couldn't make this holiday season a merry one.

He always knew what to do, no matter how small their budget was. Even if Sam's gift was just funny newspaper comics Dean had collected throughout the month and dinner was just a pack of noodles with a candy cane on the side. They'd had nothing but macaroni and apple one year, alone in a motel room watching A Christmas Carol, but he'd still managed to get into the holiday spirit.

He didn't know what to do this year.

There was an opened box of candy canes lying on the table of the motel room, and a half eaten cane lying next to it. There was a half eaten pie on the bed next to him and a barely touched turkey dinner on the counter. The radio was turned up as loud as it would go, belting something about Christmas being a wonderful time, or the most wonderful time, or whatever. A glass sat on the small nightstand beside the bed, filled with what was left of his vodka and egg nog drink. 

None of it was enough. 

Dean pushed the pie aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching over to give the alarm clock a good hit. The music stopped.  
His hand drifted over to the phone, gripping the receiver and slowly lifting it to his ear. Ten little numbers, that was all it would take. A few times he'd started, but the farthest he'd got was five numbers before he changed his mind and hung up again.

It wasn't that he didn't want to call, or didn't want to talk to him. No, he wanted more than anything to hear his voice again. But the fear that his call would be ignored, or worse, outweighed his loneliness. 

He dropped the phone back to its resting position, grabbing the half empty glass instead. He gulped the rest of the drink down on his way to the mini fridge. He refilled his glass with straight vodka and downed that too, wash, rinse, repeat, until the bottle was all but empty. He tossed the glass into the sink and returned to the large, empty bed, turning the TV on to some Christmas movie in one final attempt to make the holiday somewhat decent as he drifted off to sleep.

It didn't help.

It seemed that while Dad being on a hunt he could get used to, he couldn't find it in himself to celebrate when Sam was far away at Stanford.

It wasn't Christmas without Sam.


End file.
